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but
still, it was basic hygiene to wash the dregs away.
    The kid ran out
with a look of sheer pain. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape as if wanting
to scream at the top of his lungs. He must really have been in agony as he
approached the table next to them. Tony continued to drink and was reaching for
another handful of the onion loaf when he saw the tray-balancing waiter
crossing the room. It was almost happening in slow motion. Above the heads of
adults and kids chowing down on hot wings, cokes and steaks, Tony could see the
tray sailing along as if a-float on the patrons' heads. He could see, a second
before connection, that the boy and the waiter were going to meet at the same
point. He wanted to call out, do something (and part of him wanted to see the
crash, the shameless part of him that his mental age controlled), but was
unable. He froze, he could do nothing. Emma had glanced in the opposite
direction, probably checking out the barman who looked uncannily like that
actor Tony couldn’t remember the name of, and so didn’t note Tony's drawn-out
pause. The waiter hit the cross section, the kid hit the cross section, and the
kid ran straight through him. It was always the way. Just when Tony had kidded
himself it was all a part of his imagination, that as long as it didn’t happen
again he could fob it off as a trick of the light – it happened again. He now
realised that the kid probably was screaming, it’s just no one could hear – and
only Tony could see.
    Tony tried
acting casual as Emma turned back to take her own fill of the onion loaf. She
had asked something about an upcoming job interview to which he had given a
non-committal grunt without taking his eyes off of the kid. The kid was
pleading with parents who weren’t there. He was silently screaming, pulling at
what was probably an arm Tony couldn’t see and shaking a chair without a
resident. At least to Tony. Tony was convinced that the kid was seeing
something and unlike many of these repeat shadows was well aware that something
was pretty far from ok.
    Emma continued
to talk. Tony remained calm and casual, hearing Emma’s words but without
registering their meaning. His eyes flicked to her where he would nod, and then
return to the kid where he would slowly shake his head. And that’s when a
connection was made. The kid saw Tony and stopped screaming. Their eyes locked
and the kid began approaching. This seven-year-old boy, his face contorted with
fear, not pain, ran for Tony. He was mouthing something, trying to talk. As he
neared he flung out his arms in a gesture of simple pleading. Tears streamed
from his eyes. Tony stood, he looked to the door for a sign of the parents, for
a sign that anyone else was seeing this, and then to Emma said, ‘must go
toilet.’ And just as the kid reached out to touch Tony, Tony stepped back, the
scrape of the chair overly loud across the din of the restaurant. And then
nothing.
    The kid had
vanished, like an extinguished flame.

Chapter 5
     
    ‘Get your hands
off me! What are you doing?’ A tight grasp pushed him along the dim corridor.
The occasional fluorescent light gave the plasterboard walls a grey sheen of
which he was given frequent close up views as he was hurried passed. These
people sure were in a hurry. ‘Where are we?’ No explanation was given, just
forceful shoves and encouraging nudges to ensure he went where they wanted.
They passed a few nondescript doors the same colour as the walls until finally,
at a door no different from the rest, they stopped. The corridor continued on,
curving out of view. John turned and faced his captors - two men, mid-thirties
in suits. In the distance another man stood, stepping back into shadow.
    ‘Please,
explanations will be given’.
    John attempted
the inevitable run for freedom but the corridor, barred by the two men, was too
narrow. He was shouldered to the ground by the larger of the men who stood
firm. There was no retaliation, the other even